


It's All in the Chemistry

by mother_finch



Series: It's All in the Chemistry Series [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:56:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: shoot teachers au: shaw is the hard ass anatomy teacher and root is the sexy flirtatious computer science teacher</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All in the Chemistry

"Jared, name me the muscles that make up the flexer group of the hand," Shaw says, dropping a thick textbook before the boy’s desk. He jerks up straight, light snore morphing into a surprised yelp. All around, other students snicker quietly, all watching him.

"Uhhh…" He says, looking around the room for help. Looking anywhere besides her stone cold eyes; he can feel them burning into his skull. "The uh, the stretch tendon?" He asks fretfully.

"No," Shaw replies flatly, forcing him to look at her. "See me after lunch," she growls, slipping the textbook into her hands and walking back to the front of the class.

"The muscles in the flexer group of the hand are the flexor carpi radialis and the flexor digitorium superficialis. Can anyone tell me what happens when they are inflamed?"

A blonde girl with circular glasses and a green turtleneck raises her hand high in the air. Shaw nods to her, and she speaks. “Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.”

"Correct," Shaw says, ignoring the satisfied smile that comes to the teen’s face. "And what does Carpal Tunnel do?" The same blonde girl raises her hand once more. Shaw walks past the front of the room, brown heels clicking against the tile, hands clasped behind her back. The room is so silent, she can hear her pantsuit swishing as she walks.

* * *

 

"Sean," she says, and the scrawny boy instantly swells with fear.

"Uh- it’s uh- it’s when-" he stutters, hands fumbling over themselves. "It’s when- you know- when you- you can’t-" The bell rings, and he springs from his seat, dashing out of the door with most of the other kids.  _Juniors_ , Shaw thinks distastefully, watching as the students leave her room. The blonde girl leaves last, taking time to grab her things, then turns to Shaw.

"Have a nice day, Miss. Shaw," she says kindly, a pleasant smile on her face. Shaw looks at her with no expression.

"Get to class," she replies, and the girl slips quickly out of the door.

Walking around her room, Shaw checks the desks, making sure every textbook is aligned under them. No one dares mess anything up in her class- even to breathe out of line would be fatal. She comes to a desk with pencil marks dug deep into the polish. Instantly, she knows who wrote it- the large, sloppy penmanship unmistakable.

’ _Mz. Shaw is a bich.’_

Shaw shakes her head, about to walk to her desk for a wipe, but stops. Turning back, she takes the pen from behind her ear, and leans her elbows on the desk. Clicking it, she starts to write in her neat hand just below it.

 _‘Dear Maxwell, I appreciate your effort in spelling; however, my dog could do better. I’ll mention it to your mother to put you in English tutoring. But, until you are scheduled in, you will be here after school everyday to clean my desks.’_ She clicks the pen once more, then turns her head, feeling eyes on her. From the door window, three Freshman look through, watching with large grins at her behind. She stands up straight, turning to face them. The smiles are instantly smacked from their faces by terror, and they shove each other to get far away. Teeth clenched tight, she stalks over to the door.  _Where are all my second period students?_ She wonders, looking out the window. To the right, all is empty, but the left is a swarm.  _A fight? I don’t think so._

Shaw pushes open the door, walking towards the massive group of kids, but she is slightly shocked to hear no shouting. Instead, about twenty or so boys stand erect and professional in front of a door propped open by a woman. _What happened to Mr. Edmund?_ Shaw thinks, taking a few steps to the left to get a better look, now understanding why this mixed class group is crowding.

She has wavy brown hair that falls just past slender shoulders, which are covered by a white lace cardigan. Through it, you can see her soft, pale skin, trailing all the way down to ocean blue fingernails. She wears a dress with no sleeves, just one long loop that snakes around her neck. The dress-  _what do you know_ \- matches her manicure. It’s smooth, form fitting, and comes down to the midpoint of her thighs. It’s hard to see past the students, but Shaw- stretching her neck upwards- can see white lace stockings covering her legs, all the way down to tall, wedged high heels. One Senior stands at her side, saying something. This woman shoots a breathtaking smile his way in laughter, and all of the other guys start to chuckle as well. Shaw blinks, realizing she is studying this newcomer too hard, and swallows indignantly. The woman turns her head, light brown hair rippling across her shoulders, and mahogany eyes meet her own, darker ones. Instantly, Shaw feels a slight catch in her breath at their color, the overall beauty radiating from this one person. The woman continues to maintain eye contact with Shaw, and her smile drops to a deeper, intimate smirk.

Shaw, clearing her throat, looks away to the boys, who all turn now to look at her. Their wide smiles are quickly replaced with wide eyes as Shaw meets each boy’s eye in turn.

"Don’t you all have somewhere to be," she demands, and the boys scatter like ants in the rain.

"Yes, Miss. Shaw," some murmur as they hustle off, a majority of them skirting around her- knowing with sick dread that they have her class now. Once the crowd is gone, she looks back to this mysterious woman- who is still watching her with that same smirk. The bell rings, and Shaw shakes her head, walking back to classroom.  _Who is she?_  Shaw thinks, stepping into the class. Looking around, she sees every chatting group fall silent, all looking forward. She breathes in, trying to sort out her thoughts, and the smell of her long-time room brings serenity to her offset nerves.  _Nothing like the smell of fear in the morning,_  Shaw thinks to herself with a microscopic smirk, then begins to teach her class.

__________\ If Your Number’s Up /__________

The fourth bell rings, dismissing the students out to lunch. For the past three periods, Shaw has found herself distracted, mind continuously drifting to the mystery woman across the hall. After her room clears, she keeps busy. Re-positioning her life size diagram of the human body’s muscle system, then the skeleton. She tidies up her desk, then sits. Tapping her fingernails against the hard wood, she can take it no longer. Leaving her lunch in the bag under her desk, she stands, walking out the door. Coming to the hall, she sees a few stragglers, and small bunches of boys scattered near the woman’s door.

"Go to the cafeteria," Shaw tells them with menace in her words, "or I’ll start handing out the write up slips." With angry grumbles, the boys slink away. Setting her jaw, she knocks on the classroom door before entering. She sees the familiar rows of computers lining the walls, the large, oval desk in the center filled with various printers and machines, and the same eggshell walls. The only thing that seemed to have changed is the teacher. Turning to face the front wall, she sees the large whiteboard spanning from door frame to wall, and the long counter that runs like an elongated island in front of it. There is a computer and a chair on the counter, and Shaw looks down, seeing the chair roll back without an occupant.

The woman. She’s crouched under the counter, rummaging through her bag. With a satisfied smile, she pulls out a large, red apple.

"A little cliché for your first day, don’t you think?" Shaw asks, and the woman looks up, startled. Seeing who it is, a small smile spreads across her face, and she stands.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away," she replies, and Shaw can’t help the tingle that runs down her spine at her voice.

"Well, I should be going then," Shaw replies, voice surfacing with the hint of a joke. The woman’s eyes narrow slightly. "PhD in Anatomical Education and Anatomical Pathology," Shaw explains with a shrug. The woman responds with an impressed nod.

"Well," she says, putting the apple down on the counter. "I wouldn’t mind if  _you_  stayed.” Shaw stays silent a moment, not exactly sure how to take the statement. She decides to skip the topic entirely.

"What happened to the old computer science teacher? Mr. Edmund?" Shaw thinks to the grumpy old man that used to run this room, wrinkles like a newborn Shar Pei on his dark skin.  _We got along fairly well,_ Shaw acknowledges, always eating lunch in his room.  _Although easily annoyed by the students, he was modest and funny, having an abundance of stories to tell._

"Quit," she answers, bending back down to rummage through her bag. "Just put in his resignation and didn’t show up to work again. They were scrambling to find a replacement," she stands back up with a water and a sandwich.  "And I fit the bill." Shaw nods, looking this woman up and down.  _A perfect fit for hormonal teens and a perverse superintendent._  “I’m Miss. Groves, by the way,” she walks forward, sticking out a hand. Shaw takes it, giving it a firm shake. “But, you can call me Root.” Shaw gives a quick smile, waits a moment, then pulls her hand away.

"I’m Miss. Shaw," she introduces dryly, coming around the far side of the counter to lean against it. "You can call me Miss. Shaw."

Root gives the slightest quirk of a smile before leaning against the counter just opposite of Shaw.

"Have a first name,  _Miss. Shaw_?”

"Yeah, don’t we  _all_?” She shoots back defensively, and Root leans in. All Shaw can see is her light face, the smell of her perfume intoxicating from this close. She can only hope her outer shell comes off unfazed.

” _So_ …” Root responds in a low whisper. “What is it?”

Shaw licks her bottom lip, bites it, then lets go. “Sameen.”

"Sameen it is," Root says with a large smile, pulling herself back into an upright position. "Or maybe Sam."

"Don’t call me-"

"I think I like Sam," Root continues, ignoring Shaw entirely. "Sam, then." Shaw doesn’t object. "Did you bring lunch?" Root asks, walking over to her computer. Shaw’s eyes involuntarily follow.

"No. I mean-  _yeah_ \- but in the other room. I’ll go.” She starts to walk to the door, but Root’s question stops her.

"Will you be coming back?"

"Probably not," Shaw replies at last, not looking over to Root.

"Then you can have half of mine and stay."

Shaw looks over at her with a quizzical furrow to her brow, but doesn’t fight it. Coming back to her previous spot at the counter, Root pushes the sandwich her way, keeping the apple for herself.

"So," Root starts off conversationally, chewing. "If you have two PhD’s, why does no one address you as doctor?"

Shaw takes a bite of the sandwich, glad it is only ham and cheese. “Too preppy for me.”

” _Oh?_ " Root replies, slightly shocked, but overall joyous.

"Something wrong with that?" Shaw counters. Root shakes her head.

"Unsophisticated, yet brilliant," Root compliments. " _My_  kind of girl.” Shaw looks down at the sandwich, taking a bite to mask the smile threatening to come through, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"So, uh, tell me about what it is you do," Shaw says, swallowing. "Why come here?"

"I have a thing for computers," Root responds. "Ever since I was young, I’ve been able to work them through- inside and out. And this seemed like nothing more than another way to do that. At first, I wasn’t too sure. Science hasn’t always been my  _thing_ ,” her voice becomes slightly hushed as she leans in close to Shaw with a smirk. “But with such a  _wonderful_  doctor just across the hall, I think it’s the  _perfect_  fit for me.” Shaw holds her gaze, feeling her nerves screaming behind a cool facade. _This feeling,_  she thinks,  _isn’t something I’m used to._

"Clever  _and_  beautiful,” Shaw muses. “ _My_  type of girl.”

Root expresses the emotion Shaw dared not, a bright, toothy smile filling her entire face with light, pale cheeks overcome with a vibrant blush. The first bell rings, signifying the end of lunch. With a small sigh, Shaw pushes off of the counter and walks towards the door. Root follows, coming nerve-wracking close as she pushes open the door for Shaw to pass through.

"We should talk again sometime," Root tells her as Shaw comes even to her. Shaw tilts her head up slightly to look Root in the eyes.

"I’m always across the hall," her voice is flat, not at all flirtatious as Root’s. Shaw walks past, heels clicking across the floor; Root watches her. Once she reaches her door, Root calls out.

"And Sam?" Shaw stops, turning back to face Root as students slowly trickle into the hall. Her voice is happy and filled with the sound of a joke. "I like drinks."

Shaw can’t help but laugh. “Good,” Shaw calls back across the hall, opening her door. “Because tomorrow,  _you’re_ buying.” With that, she walks over to her room’s desk, not at all believing the words that just left her mouth.

_________\ We’ll Find You /________

And just as Shaw said, they went out for drinks the next night. And at other times periodically throughout the growing weeks. If they didn’t go to a bar, they went to a coffee shop, the possibilities endless in a large place like New York City. They’d talk about work, mostly. What the students were like, which they shared and how they acted in each. Shaw spoke of different aspects of anatomy, while Root tried in vain to educate Shaw on the larger aspects of computer generated atomic models, and making them move at the command of a keyboard. Talking about personal lives wasn’t very eventful, considering neither much had one outside of schooling. Root mentioned a good friend of hers from college, a computer designer and programmer named Harold Finch, and Shaw showed Root pictures of her German Shepard, Bear. As September bled into October, they found there was much to talk about between them, and that they were becoming a hot topic to talk about.

Now, with Halloween a short week away, the students in Shaw’s class whisper to each other, always sneaking glances up at her before quickly diving back into discussion. In the past month, Shaw had become a little more lenient with the students- as she’d done every year.  _October gives them down time privileges,_  she recalls, thinking of the checklist she keeps mental tabs on.  _Next month is… trust with the scalpels._

She puts her papers down, then stands, walking past her mannequins and to the front of the class. All whispering stops immediately. From the back row, someone raises their hand.

"Meredith?"

"Why does your skeleton have on a witch hat? And your muscle display a cape?" Shaw looks back to the mannequins with a small sigh.

"Does everyone know Miss. Groves?" Shaw asks tastelessly, wishing she could rip the stupid decorations from her very serious possessions. Kids nod, and some boys laugh to each other, sharing looks that churn Shaw’s stomach sickly. Shaw purses her lips. " _She_  did that.”

"Told her she needed to liven this boring room up," Root’s voice comes in from behind, and all heads dart to the door. Her head is peaked in, fingers wrapped around the door’s edge. "Can I grab you for a sec?"

"I’m  _teaching._..” Shaw states the obvious, to which Root gives a  _'no duh_ ' look.

"It’ll only take a  _second_ , Sam,” she persists, and Shaw finally sighs. As she walks towards the door, she hears someone make a whip sound, met by giggling from the class.

"Open your textbooks to page 107. Read. When I come back we’re having an oral quiz." There are groans all around as she escapes out the door. " _What,_ " Shaw spits impatiently.

"Calm  _down_ , Sam,” Root coos. “This’ll only take a second; I have a class  _too_.” Root lifts her right hand up, extending it to Shaw.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Shaw asks, voice dropping its hostile tone.

"You’re a doctor," Root answers with a smile. "Tell me what’s wrong with it."

Shaw rolls her eyes, taking Root’s hand in her own two, examining it. “You do realize having a PhD doesn’t mean I’m  _that_  kind of doctor.”

"You work with bones and muscle everyday; you’re  _all_  I need.” Shaw scolds herself for the jump of her heart at the words, and she twists Root’s wrist around in her grip.

"What do you feel and where."

"Center of my wrist, but closer to the inside of my arm. Just grinding pain, feels like it sticks from time to time. Just hurts in general." Shaw presses her fingers around in Root’s soft flesh, taking note of where she winces.

"And what have you been using it for lately?"

"Writing, typing… that’s about it."

"When you type, do your wrists sit on the edge of the counter?" Shaw’s eyes are fixed on Root’s wrist, left hand sliding up her arm slightly, then back down, pulling each finger back in turn, right hand still clutching Root’s wrist. Root watches Shaw’s face, occasionally looking down at her wrist, but never for long.

"Uh, yeah."

"Muscles are probably inflamed," Shaw concludes, returning Root’s hand to her side. "Slight Carpal Tunnel- yours is most likely just the beginning, nothing serious- not much you can do. Just put a brace on it for a little. And either move your keyboard farther out or closer in."

"You got it," Root replies, and Shaw finally meets her eyes. Her smirk leaves, replaced by a serious tone. "So, um, about us and-"

"I have a class to teach," Shaw interrupts, pulling her door back open. Root nods, left hand wringing her right painfully, and she walks back across the hall. Shaw watches her a moment, then walks into her classroom. To her dismay, no one is reading.

"Do you think they are  _actually_  a thing?” One girl asks her friend, who shrugs in an answer.

"She called her Sam!  _Sam_!”

"Miss. Groves and Miss.  _Shaw_?” Dean says to Jared, the boy sleeping in her class at the beginning of the year, “Yeah, they’re  _totally_  screwing.”

"Lesbian teachers," another boy says to his small group of chuckling goons. "That’s  _hot_.”

"I can’t  _believe_  Miss. Groves would date someone like  _her_ ,” a brunette girl with bubblegum nails and flip flops says to a group of girls, all wearing nearly the same thing. “Miss. Shaw’s such a- a total  _stiff_!” The girls mumble in agreeance. All around the room, these words fly back and forth, and with each, Shaw feels her temper rise.

"Would anyone care to explain to me why you are not  _reading_?” Shaw seethes, and everyone goes eerily quiet.

"We’re talkin’ ‘bout chu gettin’ laid!" One boy shouts from his haughty perch in the back. Some laugh nervously, but most stay silent.

"Maxwell," Shaw greets with a condescending tone. "I see that English tutor isn’t doing much for you." More laughter. "But, that doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is that you do your work, and you only worry about your  _own_  business.” Her tone isn’t hostile, but rather polite- her most deadly. She can feel the entire room holding its breath, not wanting to set off the mine field in front of them.

Someone sneezes, and the silence breaks.

"So," Shaw claps her hands together, and the class jumps as a unit. "The oral test. This is how it is going to work: I will ask each of you one question. Get it right? One hundred. Get it Wrong? Zero. Dean, let’s start with you." Dean swallows hard, brushing his shaggy brown hair down nervously. "What is the longest muscle in the body?"

He freezes, eyes wide. “Uh, the vastus lateralis muscle?”

"Wrong. How about you, Millie?" She asks, eyes scorching into the girl in the flip flops.

"The Pepperoneus Long Ass Muscle?" From all around, kids snicker.

"Wrong. And it is pronounced  _Peroneus Longus_  Muscle.” Shaw walks to the front left of the room. She sees Clara, the blonde from the beginning of the year fidgeting restlessly in her chair. _I could fail them all on this question alone_ , Shaw thinks, but decides against it. “Clara.”

"It’s the Sartorius Muscle."

"Good," Shaw responds, pleased that at least one student knew. From somewhere nearby, Shaw hears a voice grumble.

"Show off."

The bell rings, and the students rush past like a herd of elk escaping a wild cheetah. Within a matter of seconds, the room is a ghost town. Sighing, she plops herself on the front of her desk, forehead resting in her hand. Her thoughts circulate back to what Root had said- or was in the middle of saying- earlier on.

 _So, um, about us and how things have been, what are we?_  Shaw finishes the thought, knowing exactly what Root would say.  _I don’t know,_  she groans, pressing her eyes shut tight.  _We’re not anything,_  she thinks in exasperation.  _Just close friends. We go to the bar, we get coffee, we work together- that’s it._  Something tugs at her none the less, making her not so certain.

__________\ It’s All in the Chemistry /__________

The minutes had seemed excruciatingly long, every tick of the second hand an eternity away from the next. But, finally, the bell rang, signalling lunch. Shaw waits for the room to clear, checks the books, then grabs her lunch bag and heads out. Crossing the hall, she knocks at the door, then opens it, just as she did five times a week every week.

"Hey, Sweetie," Root greets as Shaw walks in, and Shaw narrows her eyes. Root is erasing the far whiteboard, a smile playing on her face, not once looking in Shaw’s direction. Shaw takes in her dark red, short sleeved dress, knee high black boots, and lively hair.

"I though we settled on  _Sam_ ,” Shaw remarks, putting her lunch on the counter. Root merely shrugs, smile growing. “And how’d you know it was me?”

"Who  _else_  would it be?”

"One of your very  _eager_  male students,” Shaw replies with a hint of laughter in her voice. “What would have happened then?”

"Probably gotten fired," Root replies, putting the eraser down. She walks to her chair, grabbing a black trench coat and slipping it on. "Then I’d have to travel to  _you_  at lunch instead,” she says, stopping on the other side of Shaw at the counter. _And there it is_ , Shaw thinks, feeling the key clicking into place.  _That something that was making me so unsure earlier. Her voice. Her eyes. Her everything._  Everything was that something keeping her from being just a friend to Shaw, and it perplexes her.  _This is not a normal feeling for me,_  she thinks, watching Root’s eyes.  _This, this- whatever this is._  She thinks of her three categories of emotions: Funny, Angry, None. This feeling didn’t seem to fit into any of those.

"What’s on your mind?" Root asks, and Shaw snaps out of her daze.

"You missed a spot on the board," Shaw replies, coming around the counter. Taking a whiteboard eraser, she swipes away at the random green and black half letters on the right side of the board.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Root asks, picking up an eraser to help Shaw.

"Yeah," Shaw replies with extended patience. "It was only a month ago."

Root laughs. “Well yeah, but,” her voice grows serious. “What did you mean when you said I was ‘ _your_  kind of girl’?” Shaw keeps her hand pressed to the eraser, but stops all motion.

"What did  _you_  mean by it?” Shaw counters.

"I think it’s pretty obvious what _I_  mean by it,” Root responds, putting the eraser down and facing Shaw. Shaw turns her head to look at Root while she speaks. “I’m an easy read. But you? You’re a ten thousand word trilogy written in a dead language.” Shaw can feel her blood run cold with nervousness, but her outside remains calm. “I’d love to know what they all mean.”

Shaw feels cold, but every nerve in her body is on fire. _What is this?_  She screams the question to herself, wanting to figure it out. It was butterflies, and it was bullets. It was was fire, and it was ice. It was logical, and it was completely insane. It made absolutely no sense, and it was the most sensible thing in the world.  _What the hell is this?_

Everything bottled up inside all this time seemed to be bursting at the seams. From the moment they met and all the way up to now, every thought and ounce of any sort of adoration had been kept within, not knowing how to come out, and now it was ready to blow her like the top of a volcano.

Without thinking, or maybe thinking far too much, Shaw drops the eraser, and it clatters to the ground with a colorful puff of marker residue. She grabs Root by the sides of her shoulders, feeling the smooth material of Root’s coat under her fingertips as she pushes her against the whiteboard. Before her mind can even catch up, she throws herself forward, pressing her lips hard to Root’s. Instantly, colors burst behind closed eyelids, and she pulls back, eyes wide in surprise. Looking at Root, she sees her eyes, too, are wide with shock, jaw hanging with slack. Shaw bites her lip, unsure what to say. Root lets out a soft, silent laugh, looking down at her shoes as an exuberant smile overtakes her face. Looking back up to Shaw, her eyes shimmer with humor and overwhelming delight.

"Guess I know what it means now," she says, voice a silenced awe.

"That makes the  _both_  of us,” Shaw mutters, and Root’s smile widens.

There is a noise, and both women look to the door, breath catching at the same time.

A Junior, curly black hair with a frilly pink headband, and small denim shorts stares at them with wild eyes. Her phone is up, directed at the both of them, bubblegum case matched by similarly colored nails. Her eyes go down to her phone, then back up to them. Shaw feels her stomach drop and her heart roar, knowing full well what is on that girls phone screen. Her jaw is open wide, and when the girl speaks, the words are short and bewildered.

"Oh. My.  _God_.”


End file.
